Read Online The Winds of Change by Martha Grimes - Free Book Online
Authors: Martha Grimes
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caravans set up by the side of the road.
Twenty miles later, Cody pulled into the car park of a Little Chef.
Inside, with a plate of nearly everything on the menu in front of him, Jury asked Cody about the investigation into the disappearance of Flora Scott.
Cody was drinking tea and occasionally taking a bite of toast.
‘Times I thought it was.’
‘Was what?’
‘A disappearance. It was like she vanished into thin air. It was like a magic act.’ Cody had pushed his dark glasses up on his head. It was the first time Jury had actually seen his eyes. They were a disconcerting stone color, as if light had leached the color from them. Yet they were neither cold nor hard; it was as if the eyes felt this loss of color, as one might feel the loss of a person, and were saddened by it.
The waitress - Joanie, according to the name on the button on her collar - came with more tea and coffee. She smiled as if this were the greatest thing that had happened during her shift. Jury returned the smile. Walking away from the booth, she stumbled into a table.
Cody went on. ‘The Scott family must have had a lot of pull in the county. The grandmother, Alice Miers, lives in London, and she came straightaway. She was like a rock, you know, one of those people every family should have. I think Mary would have flown into little bits if her mum hadn’t been there. Anyway, I’ve never seen so many police called to one scene. There must’ve been seventy-five, a hundred of us going over every inch of Heligan gardens and that grotto. We found sod-all, not a hair ribbon, not a kicked-off shoe lost in a struggle - there always seems to be a little shoe left behind in films, doesn’t there? Or a little blue purse the mother said she was carrying. Not even that turned up. I would’ve thought she’d’ve dropped something like that.’
‘Your abductor would have picked it up.’
‘I expect so.’ He shoved the plate of toast to one side and was leaning over the shiny surface of the table, hands folded, working his fingers, as if this account were told in deepest confidence. ‘I concentrated on the grotto, thinking that would be a good spot to grab someone because it’s not immediately visible. You remember three or four steps going down -’ Here he walked his fingers on the table, simulating the steps taken. ‘The grotto would have been the spot Mary Scott had just passed, maybe twenty, thirty feet behind her. I have my own theory about that, anyway.’
‘What?’ Jury was polishing off the last of his eggs.
‘Less than a couple of minutes had passed since Mary had been with Flora, had seen her, not more than that before she looked around, saw Flora wasn’t with her and retraced her steps. What she said was she remembered last seeing Flora on the other side of the grotto, so, of course, she hurried back that way. I think the villain was inside the grotto with Flora, Flora either being chloroformed or his hand over her mouth to shut her up.’
Jury frowned. ‘It’s not deep enough, is it, to hide a person? What’s Macalvie think about that?’
Codv sighed and sat back in the booth. ‘The boss would agree with you; he thinks they would’ve been seen. But not necessarily, I said to him, not if the mother was rushing by. It might have given this creep a better chance of disguising Flora, I mean, getting her into another coat, something different.’
Jury put his fork down. He was still hungry. He pushed back his plate and considered ordering more. His coffee cup was nearly full. All he lacked now was a cigarette. He had never experienced the advantages of not smoking. To hear the propaganda, the lungs would expand, the scent of roses and violets become denser, the taste of peppermint sharper, the air clearer, the rain more crystalline and the bloody fields more Elysian. The clouds, he supposed, fluffier. The only benefit that he could testify to was that he could say he was no longer killing himself with nicotine. Not that
Twenty miles later, Cody pulled into the car park of a Little Chef.
Inside, with a plate of nearly everything on the menu in front of him, Jury asked Cody about the investigation into the disappearance of Flora Scott.
Cody was drinking tea and occasionally taking a bite of toast.
‘Times I thought it was.’
‘Was what?’
‘A disappearance. It was like she vanished into thin air. It was like a magic act.’ Cody had pushed his dark glasses up on his head. It was the first time Jury had actually seen his eyes. They were a disconcerting stone color, as if light had leached the color from them. Yet they were neither cold nor hard; it was as if the eyes felt this loss of color, as one might feel the loss of a person, and were saddened by it.
The waitress - Joanie, according to the name on the button on her collar - came with more tea and coffee. She smiled as if this were the greatest thing that had happened during her shift. Jury returned the smile. Walking away from the booth, she stumbled into a table.
Cody went on. ‘The Scott family must have had a lot of pull in the county. The grandmother, Alice Miers, lives in London, and she came straightaway. She was like a rock, you know, one of those people every family should have. I think Mary would have flown into little bits if her mum hadn’t been there. Anyway, I’ve never seen so many police called to one scene. There must’ve been seventy-five, a hundred of us going over every inch of Heligan gardens and that grotto. We found sod-all, not a hair ribbon, not a kicked-off shoe lost in a struggle - there always seems to be a little shoe left behind in films, doesn’t there? Or a little blue purse the mother said she was carrying. Not even that turned up. I would’ve thought she’d’ve dropped something like that.’
‘Your abductor would have picked it up.’
‘I expect so.’ He shoved the plate of toast to one side and was leaning over the shiny surface of the table, hands folded, working his fingers, as if this account were told in deepest confidence. ‘I concentrated on the grotto, thinking that would be a good spot to grab someone because it’s not immediately visible. You remember three or four steps going down -’ Here he walked his fingers on the table, simulating the steps taken. ‘The grotto would have been the spot Mary Scott had just passed, maybe twenty, thirty feet behind her. I have my own theory about that, anyway.’
‘What?’ Jury was polishing off the last of his eggs.
‘Less than a couple of minutes had passed since Mary had been with Flora, had seen her, not more than that before she looked around, saw Flora wasn’t with her and retraced her steps. What she said was she remembered last seeing Flora on the other side of the grotto, so, of course, she hurried back that way. I think the villain was inside the grotto with Flora, Flora either being chloroformed or his hand over her mouth to shut her up.’
Jury frowned. ‘It’s not deep enough, is it, to hide a person? What’s Macalvie think about that?’
Codv sighed and sat back in the booth. ‘The boss would agree with you; he thinks they would’ve been seen. But not necessarily, I said to him, not if the mother was rushing by. It might have given this creep a better chance of disguising Flora, I mean, getting her into another coat, something different.’
Jury put his fork down. He was still hungry. He pushed back his plate and considered ordering more. His coffee cup was nearly full. All he lacked now was a cigarette. He had never experienced the advantages of not smoking. To hear the propaganda, the lungs would expand, the scent of roses and violets become denser, the taste of peppermint sharper, the air clearer, the rain more crystalline and the bloody fields more Elysian. The clouds, he supposed, fluffier. The only benefit that he could testify to was that he could say he was no longer killing himself with nicotine. Not that
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